To Err Is Human
by aphytick
Summary: He had to believe that he did the right thing. What was that saying? To err is human. And Gary err'd. Gary err'd big time. Gary/Andy


_**A/N: **_

_**I still care so much. I got the chance to see The World's End again since it got yanked from our cinema.**_  
_**It's a lot more upsetting the second time around. And the third. Are we sure this is a comedy...?**_

_**This got really needlessly dramatic really fast, but if the fic won't come to you. Well.**_

* * *

He had promised his advisor in group that he would quit smoking.

"You have a very addictive personality, Gary, and that is common in the people that come here. Studies show that cutting down on your vices can be beneficial to your state of health, both physical and – mental." He paused, firstly to allow his spew of textbook psychology to sink in and secondly to make sure Gary was listening.

He wasn't. He wasn't even pretending to, but as long as at least one member of the circle was paying enough attention to slap him on the back later, that's all that mattered.

"You're being released from our care soon on the merit of good behaviour, but you will need to check in regularly so we can monitor your progress. We wouldn't want any more nasty accidents, now would we?"

And that was that. Gary had nodded at all the appropriate times, and reigned himself in as best he could when he was in the eye line of one of the state workers. It had been a short stay, and they had him pinned down for an "isolated incident". In layman's terms, what that meant was that they couldn't be fucked with him, as neither him nor the centre was willing to put in the effort. They found it best not to argue with him when he said that there was nothing wrong with him.

Still, he had made a few promises and intended to make good on them – after his business was done. Group gave him a chance to relive his glory days; they were fresh, and the first thing in a long time that made him feel alive. Paul's comment about not being able to make it to The World's End sparked an idea in Gary, and he realised that that is what he needed. That's what was missing, that was what was fucked up.

He needed to finish what he started.

The boys met his enthusiasm with scepticism, but not a single one said they wouldn't come. Most of the gang hadn't changed. Pete was still under someone's thumb, only this time he had the infortune of being married to her. Steven still acted like he had something to prove, flaunting his relations with a 26 year old fitness instructor. Gary doubted that she gave better head than he did, but he left that bit out. Oliver was – well, Oliver was Oliver, up his own ass as always and with little patience for Gary.

Andy, though. Andy was practically a different person, all things considered. Gary tried letting his cold abrasiveness run off him like water off a duck's back, but too much had changed. The Andy in front of him, the tightly strung corporate lawyer wasn't acting like his best friend at all, and Gary wasn't one hundred percent sure why. Maybe it was the six hundred quid, but he had that sorted now.

Gary wasn't sure he would show, but he did. He saw him exit his car from the partially concrete covered parking space. He didn't go over immediately; he let them wait it out. He was Gary fucking King, and he had to make an entrance; build up suspense, and all that, so he sat within earshot until the boys looked like they were about ready to piss off again.

"He's bloody late." Oliver sighed.  
Steven gave a good natured shrug, as if to say "we're the muppets for coming in the first place."  
"Maybe he had an accident?" Pete suggested, but his hand touched Andy's sleeve in apology. "Oh, sorry Andy."  
"S'alright." Andy said. "I think Gary having an accident would actually be the best outcome for all of us, including Gary."

The concrete pillar was cold, even through Gary's coat. His fingers fumbled with his lighter as his listened to his friend's conversation, and Andy's comment jolted him out of his stupor. He'd take that as his cue. He dropped his lighter indelicately into his pocket before swinging himself in to the Beast and rounding the corner to the station car lane.

"Alright, pissheads!" He called across the hood. He ignored Andy's muttered "oh for fuck _sake_" and spurred them all in to the car.

Banter was easy flowing and for the first time since starting this all again, Gary relaxed. He sang loudly over the Beast's stereo and even Andy joined in in bursts.

He felt Andy stiffen beside him when the caught the policeman in the wing mirror, and Gary knew that meant something, but he couldn't figure it out over the burning in his nostril and the hammering in his chest. He talked his way out of it, he was an expert at that, but the atmosphere in the Beast had soured significantly. Oliver and Steven were sharing a look, Pete was staring at the back of Gary's headseat with a look not dissimilar to a kicked puppy and Andy was minutely shaking his head at the glovebox.

"You know." Gary said, casually. "I always thought I'd make a great policeman."

Steven was the first to laugh, and the majority of the car followed suit. The tension eased slightly, and only Gary heard the harsh whisper of "not fucking likely" to his left.

Gary's jaw ached, and the pint glassed pressed against his skin wasn't helping any.  
"You fucking deserved that one, Gary." Steven said, sourly. Oliver had his fingers pressed in to his temples and he looked as if he was trying to erase the last fifteen minutes by sheer willpower. Gary held up his arms defensively.

"She gave me the signal, man!"  
"She ga- you don't even fucking like her! You never did. You treated her like – like some sort of back up fuck!"  
Gary shrugged. "So? You were mine."  
"Jesus Christ, Gary."  
Pete blinked. "You what? You're telling me you two-"  
"Once." Steven answered quickly. "We were pissed and on one of Reverend Green's Friday Specials."  
"Twice." Gary mouthed over his glass, before having a swallow. "It was shit anyway. Dickhead here thought a blowjob was literally a _blow_job."  
"Piss off!"  
"I taught him a thing or two, a couple of my _moves_. In fact, Steve, I'd say you owe any successful encounters of the sexual kind to me." He tipped his glass. "You're welcome."  
"I don't believe this."  
"You know that fitness instructor?"  
"You haven't." Steve said, stricken.  
"What? Oh, no. _No_. Wait, have I?" Gary considered for a moment, before shaking his head. "Nah. But give her one for me, yeah?"  
"No! Jesus, Gary, is there anyone in Newton Haven you haven't fucked?"  
"Well he certainly hasn't fucked me." Oliver cut in, eyes widening at the thought."  
The group turned to Pete. "Oh, or me!" He said, quickly.  
"Don't even fucking ask me." Andy said loudly, before anyone could open their mouths.  
Gary belched loudly. "Aside from Steve-o here, you three are about the only ones who haven't gotten some of the King."  
"A shame." Andy sighed, all mock disappointment. Gary didn't pick up on it.  
"What, you want to-"  
"No, Gary, I do _not _want to. There isn't enough Crowning Glory in this entire pub that would make me want to." He held up his hand, tacking on "and I'm _married_".  
"Steady on, Andy, I'm only taking the piss." Gary said in to his pint glass. "Rule numero uno, you don't shag your best mate."  
"I am not your best mate, Gary."

Gary's hand faltered for a minute before he tipped his glass back and downed the lot. "Whatever. Let's boo boo, we haven't got all night."

They hadn't, they were losing daylight quickly, and as the night dragged on four of the party of five were anxious to get out of Newton Haven. Andy threw caution to the wind and slapped note after note on sticky bars tops. It was pointless arguing with Gary, and the quicker they made their way from point to point, the quicker he could leave, and the quicker he could get away from Gary for good.

The dynamic of the group changed noticeably with each pub they exited. The stick that had been lodged up Oliver's ass since birth seemed to vanish. Andy didn't like it, something was off, and that wasn't the drink talking. Pete was anxious after meeting his old bully. Gary said something about bottling up past trauma, and his tone suggested he knew something about that, but Andy didn't like that either. Who the fuck is he to talk about bottling up trauma, he thought. He knows jack shit about trauma, the bastard. Even Steven was antsy, his jaw clenching and his eyes rapidly moving in his sockets. They all knew they were in too deep now, but by fuck were they trying to get out.

Appropriately, everything came to a head in The King's Head. They were two musketeers down. What was left of Oliver clung thickly to Andy's shirt, and they knew that it was too late for Pete. Gary's head was bleeding and bruised, and Andy was angry at his for being fucking awkward. Two seconds it would have taken him, two bloody seconds to roll up his sleeve and show him the scar on his elbow, but Gary had to do a Gary and make a scene at the smoke house. What's more was that he hadn't reacted at all when Andy forced himself to relive that night; the night when his best friend in the entire world left him. Left him to die, left him to get arrested – just fucking _left_, and to save his own skin. He didn't even act like he remembered. Andy had been trying to save Gary's life that night and in return, Gary had fucked his up. It was bad enough that he was fucking up his own.

Punching him felt good. He'd been wanting to do that for years, but Andy had told himself that he was the better man. Better than Gary, at any rate. Yeah, punching him had felt good, but now all that was left was the painful swelling of his knuckles and Gary's dazed, faraway look as he looked at them over the bar.

He smiled wryly, before downing his pint and dragging his marker over The King's Head on the map. Andy saw it coming, hands his hands up to catch the keys before he could catch himself, and irritation sparked through him as Gary bolted.

"Let him go!" Steven hollered. "He left you, man!"  
Andy turned to him, throwing him the keys. "I _can't._" He stressed, before taking off after Gary. His thighs ached and his hand was swollen and blue from punching clean through the ceramic stomach of Becky Salt. Gary had told him to get in the car before it was dragged out of the hole in the wall, but Andy couldn't do it. He couldn't leave Gary. He should have, he knew that, to even the scoreboard at least, but he couldn't. After everything, Andy still loved him. Gary was still the best friend he had ever had.

He burst through the front double doors of the pub and used his embedded rugby skills to tackle him to the carpet. Gary was wild, catching Andy's skin with his rings and fingernails in an attempt to get to the tap, but Andy wouldn't let up. He wasn't about to sit back and watch Gary drink his life away, and he told him as much.

"What do you care anyway?!" Gary all but screamed, pushing Andy off of him with the heel of his palm.  
"Of course I fucking care!" He pulled back to get a breath. "I would have followed you _anywhere_ Gary. I would have followed you to the end. I fucking have!" He yelled, gesturing around himself.  
Gary bit back a cry as he raised his knee sharply. "Then stop _following me_."

Andy was winded, but three years on the school's rugby team had him better equipped for a move like that. He grabbed Andy by the back of the coat and twisted it so he had him bent double. His forearms had Gary pinned to his chest and dully noted in the back of his mind that he hadn't been this closed to Gary in years.

Gary struggled and his breathing was harsh, allowing him to force out "you've got everything you want." There wasn't a trace of bitter jealousy in his voice, like there should have been. It was more wistful than it was resentful, and any hatred in those words wasn't directed at Andy. On his part, Andy laughed.  
"Have I?"  
"You've got your _job, _and your _house, _and your _wife._" His voice broke on that last bit, and he ducked his head in to his chest.  
"She left me, Gary." Andy said. He hadn't even told his secretary that.  
Gary had stilled against his chest and for a brief, blissful moment Andy thought that maybe he had gotten through to him. That was his mistake; he had asked why the Golden Mile was so important to him. Gary shifted only slightly before he drove his elbow in to Andy's stomach.  
"_It's all I've got._"

He yanked his arms out of his coat sleeves and hopped over the bar, landing hard on his knees. Andy banked around, wrenching the cover hatch up before knocking Gary to the ground. In such a confined space, it was hard to brawl and Andy grabbed on to the easiest thing he could get hold of; Gary's arms. He wrenched them to the side before he realised that the action was unnecessary. Gary had gone completely still.

Andy took stock of the situation for a moment, before a sick wave of pity and remorse washed over him. The bandages were course under his fingers and the hospital bracelet hung off of Gary's too thin wrist.

"Jesus Gary." He whispered. "You never said." He winced in spite of himself. Of course he didn't say. Why would he. What would Andy have done. When this night started he probably would have bubbled over and accused Gary of using it as another pity ploy, like he did his mum. His words would have been venomous and he would have meant every single one.

"You need help, Gary."  
Gary turned on him, his cheeks ruddy and his eyes red. "I got help!" He yelled, cursing his _help _with every breath. "They told me when to go to bed! ME!"

Andy thumped him, hard, just once. He swung his arm and it connected with Gary's shoulder. He then grabbed it with his open hand, the other still holding on to Gary's wrist. Andy was aware he was crossing all sorts of boundaries, but at this point he didn't care. Or maybe he cared too much.

"For fuck sake, Gary! What was this going to accomplish? What were you trying to _do_?"

The question was redundant, but the bottom line was that Gary didn't know. At the time, he was sure there was a clear cut reason, a drive that pushed him just past where he needed to go. He couldn't remember that part. He remembered being cold. The telly was on. He remembered being alone, and terrified of what he'd done. The sink was running and water was flowing over the lip of the cup. He remembered his entire body going in to shut down, and he was crying as he lifted to phone. He felt sick, but there was nothing in his stomach to throw up. He tried anyway. He held a sock to himself and didn't have the capacity to find it absurd. He didn't feel it. He just felt cold.

They asked him why. Why. Why _now_. Why ever, Gary. What happened. He didn't know. He wasn't confused, he wasn't missing anything, he just did not know, but they expected an answer.

"_Everything's gone fuck up_. I _did that_."

It was the only thing that was missing. Why. Everything else was vivid. It was like a blurry background figure in a photo you didn't remember taking. He couldn't answer them, and he couldn't answer Andy.

Andy seemed to realise this. He knew Gary more than he'd like to. He knew his tells, and when Gary pursed his lips that meant that he was done talking about the topic at hand. He didn't do it very often, Gary could talk for England if he wanted, so Andy knew when to back off.

"You're a bloody mess, Gary King."  
"I know."  
"I missed you."

Andy kissed him because it seemed like the right thing to do. It wasn't pity, and it wasn't helplessness. It wasn't expected of him, and he didn't have to do it. Not many things were right in either of their lives. This was.

Gary kissed him because he needed to. The journey wasn't about getting drunk, and blotting out his past. It wasn't about the Golden Mile at all, really. He had lost so much time thinking that it was all about that night. It was at the start, but it didn't have to be. Not anymore.

This was what it was about. Real happiness, not the liquid fix found at the bottom of the pint glass. Real friends, the sort who would lay down their lives for you. Those were the things worth living for, and Gary had almost died trying to figure that one out.

Everything would be alright now.

Gary was shit at saying what he meant, so when he kissed Andy he let that speak for him. It was desperate, and there was the jitter of panic laced in with it. Andy understood. His kiss was angry, but it was the right sort. He opened Gary's mouth with his own and let him know that he didn't blame him. Not for anything he didn't deserve. Their faces were damp between them, but they weren't about to let go. Not for anything. When he pulled back, he placed his lips against Gary's forehead instead.

There was something he wanted to do, but he didn't know if he was allowed. He asked, and braced himself for a clash across the ear, but Gary just nodded and said "yeah, go for it", so Andy did. He lifted Gary's arm to his face and brushed his lips against the thin layer of bandages. It was an apology of sorts, but it was a promise too, and Gary knew that.

Gary smiled at him, and it was perfect and wrong. His face was tear tracked and he was trembling, but he was smiling at Andy and Andy hated himself because of it. He had to let him finish this now, so he backed up and let Gary pull the beer tap in to position. When the floor came away from the bar with a suck, Gary was terrified because now he had something to lose. He wasn't about to let that happen. Fuck them blue bastards, he thought. I'm Gary fucking King, flaws and fuck ups and all.

And there was only one of him.

He had to believe that he did the right thing. What was that saying? To err is human. And Gary err'd. Gary err'd big time.

They made it, or what was left of them did at any rate. The musketeers, the revised edition. That had to mean something.

His body gave out when they reached the hill. His legs went first and the rest of him crumpled in a heap. Andy was there, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders and propping him up and God, if that didn't play out like an old, familiar record.

"We're leaving. We're going to London," Steven gestured helplessly to the ruins of Newton Haven, "to see how far this all goes."  
Sam put a hand through the crook of his elbow and asked Gary and Andy if they were coming.  
"Nah." said Gary, without moving. "I think I'm going to stay here for a bit." His face was tight against the orange glow of the brownout fire. He blamed himself. Andy watched him from behind the frame of his glasses before he shook his head.  
"I'm not leaving him." He said, finally. Steven nodded stiffly, like his joints were stuck and Sam gave them a thin lipped smile before turning to the car with Steven in tow.

"You should leave, Andy." Gary's voice was quiet, and that terrified Andy in a way that the Network hadn't. He wasn't just saying that to garner sympathy, what he really meant was "you should leave _me_". Andy wouldn't even consider it, not this time. He slung an arm around Gary's shoulders.  
"And what, leave you to blow up the rest of Britain? Not fucking likely."  
Gary's laugh was startled, but real. He fell against Andy's side, cushioning his face on his chest. His free arm wound lightly around his stomach, fingers gripping on to one suspender strap.  
"What, not even Newcastle?" He joked.  
"Well. Maybe Newcastle. But you have to do Somerset for me. I can't fucking stand those accents."  
"Done." Gary mumbled. He sounded tired. "Andy…I'm sorry."  
"I know."

When morning broke over what was left of Newton Haven. Gary and Andy hadn't moved. Dew was seeping in to their trousers and ash lined their skin and fell in to every crevice, but they hadn't moved. Gary had dozed off around four, and Andy had a hard time shifting his head on to his lap without waking him, but he managed. He shook violently in his sleep, and Andy didn't know what he was reliving. He wouldn't ask, even if he wanted to, but he had to do something. He'd kick himself for it later, he would, but he'd done a lot of things in the span of one night that he'd never thought he would. Wetting his lips, and making sure he wouldn't croak out the words more than usual, Andy began humming to himself before easing in to a song.

"And when the rain comes down…would you choose to walk or stay – would you choose to walk aw-a-a-a-ay".

The small smile on Gary's face let Andy know that he was awake.

"You're a fucking terrible singer, mate."  
"Oi, I used to be in choir."  
Gary snorted. "Yeah, to fill it out. They needed you in photos to make it look like the choir wasn't so shit."  
Andy laughed, even though it was at his own expense. "It was shit though, wasn't it."  
"Miss McLear was fit though."  
"Why do you think I joined?"

The disjointed conversation lapsed in to silence before long. Gary was thinking a lot about that saying. If he was human, did that make Andy divine? He chuckled low in his chest at the idea. It was ridiculous, for a start. Still, it made some sense. Andy had forgiven him for a hell of a lot, even for thing for which he would never be able to forgive himself. He figured that meant that he loved him. That was alright; he loved Andy too. He wasn't being funny or anything, but he figured that he always had. It didn't need to be said out loud, but he did anyway.

"Oh piss off, Gary."

Yeah. This was definitely worth living for.


End file.
